The Awkward In-between
by wistfulweaverwoman
Summary: Days after winning the 74th Hunger Games Katniss recognized her life was changing, not just her home. She was already mourning for that old life, when things were difficult, yet so simple. With a tightening in her chest and a fear she didn't understand, she wondered what would be left.
1. Chapter 1

Reporters greeted Katniss Everdeen at the station when the train brought her home from the Capitol. The whole of District 12 was packed on and around the platform, the perimeter peppered with peacekeepers. Quickly she scanned the faces till she located her mother and younger sister, Prim. Breath hitching, her heart seemed to swell and contract all at once.

Stepping off the train she surged forward through the parting crowd and flung her arms around her family. Her friends. Katniss prickled as she felt the cameras filming intrusively; recording every emotional reaction she shared with her loved ones. Disappointed, she did not feel the calm she had expected with her return.

Trailing behind was the District mentor, Haymitch Abernathy. Embracing him, Mrs. Everdeen whispered her gratitude. Haymitch had brought Katniss home to her. Pulling his head back, he met her eyes. A flash of deep sorrow swept across his face and shook his head, denying her grace. He could never make up for every other year he'd failed to bring a child home. The long look they shared ended as Mrs. Everdeen conceded with the tilt of her head. Reaching for his flask as he pulled away, his expression was once again unreadable.

Gripping Katniss's arm, Prim beamed as the crowd began to disperse. She blithely chatted to Seam and Merchant well-wishers alike, with an natural ease that Katniss did not possess. A few schoolmates that Katniss had never spoken to clapped her on the shoulder in congratulations. Darius, the young redheaded peacekeeper grinned a hello. Madge, the mayor's daughter and Katniss's only school friend, came to offer a visit in the near future.

Leaving the station brought no respite. The Capitol people stalked the Everdeen family as they walked through the town with Haymitch. They swarmed around her as they approached Victor's Village, asking all types of ridiculous questions that only caused her confusion. Her head swam and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her.

Like exotically colored birds that she had once seen in a book of animals, they squawked about with their dyed skin, bright wigs, and strange clothes. Surely all was the height of fashion in the Capitol. Yet, even in Victor's Village, completely Capitol built, they seemed grotesque and foreign.

Walking along the cobbled lane edged with neatly trimmed hedges, Mrs. Everdeen soon paused in front of a white clapboard house with black trim. The new house was huge, not just compared to the small one-bedroom Seam cottage she'd grown up in, but larger than even the wealthiest merchant. Outside of Victor's Village only the Mayor's mansion could equal in grandeur.

Haymitch hurried on toward his own house, back already to the group, arm raised in farewell. Tugging Katniss forward, Prim skipped across the front lawn and slipped into the house. The day had turned very hot, and the coolness of the house was startling in contrast. Her skin prickled with goose flesh when she stepped over the threshold.

The front entrance of the house was its own room, two stories high with a sweeping staircase with a bright white carved banister that curved to the right and disappeared up into the second floor. The floor was some type of white stone, veined with pale grey. The walls were covered with a pale silver wallpaper with darker silver birds possessing long cruel beaks, all in various forms of flight. An enormous shiny chrome chandelier was dripping with clear crystals. When the sun was just at the right angle they refracted rainbows on the ceiling and walls. The room had a cold, uninviting feel that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Shutting the door behind her, Katniss paused. Taking in the luxury of the foyer it struck her that her life was changing, not just her home. She was already mourning for that old life, when things were difficult, yet so simple. With a tightening in her chest and a fear she didn't understand, she wondered what would be left.

It was the first Sunday since the festivities celebrating the Hunger Games victory had ended. Parcel Day had come and gone, and the cameras and menagerie of Capitol reporters had finally left on the train just two days before. She'd been home nearly three weeks, yet was still waiting for relief.

Waking two hours before dawn, anxiety and anticipation robbed Katniss of a few hours of precious sleep. After her father had died she'd had the odd nightmare, but since returning home they came every night.

Katniss dreamt of the horrors she'd experienced in the arena, wolf mutts, designed to resemble fallen tributes. Accusing eyes glared, teeth ripping meat and bone. She dreamt of little Rue, trapped, screaming for her. Fire consumed Katniss, blistering and blackening her skin with white-hot flames, while her feet remained rooted to the earth, paralyzed, unable to flee. She dreamt of brutal, horrible Cato, slowly dying as the wolves tore at his flesh. Screaming. Always dying, but never dead. She dreamt of snake eyes, glittering in the dark.

Worst and most often, she dreamt of her district partner dying. Dying by the stream, in the cave, by the lake, on the hovercraft. Dying, engulfed by fevered infection, bleeding from open wound, or snapped neck. Then dead. Always dead, with eyes that stared but did not see.

She would wake screaming, soaked with sweat, sheets tangled around her limbs. Panic remained until Katniss was alert enough to sort out where she was and what was real. There was no comfort in waking alone and sleep often became elusive. The deprivation was beginning to wear on her young body, not yet completely restored from the arena.

Rolling out of bed she padded softly to her bathroom. It was probably her favorite room in the whole house, second to the full stocked pantry. The bathroom was quite bright during the day, full of natural sunlight that bounced off the clean white tiles that covered the floor and walls.

Next to the white porcelain pedestal sink was an oversized bathtub. Across the room, taking up an entire wall, was an enormous glass enclosed shower. By District 12 standards it was beyond luxurious, with two showerheads, hanging from the ceiling, one on each side of the stall, as well as several small body sprayers that were scattered along three of the tiled walls. There was a tiled bench that ran the length of the back wall. Katniss hadn't bothered with the bath, as the lure of the shower was so seductive.

After washing her face, brushing her teeth, she braided her hair. Passing through her bedroom to her closet, she debated what to wear. Normally, before the Games, she wore her father's old shirts, but having a slight build, had to trade for smaller trousers, usually not too worn. Her dilemma now was that her Capitol stylist, Cinna, had sent her home with every type of clothes anyone could ever need or want, including beautifully designed outdoor gear.

The cloth was a dark muted green that seemed nearly brown in a certain light. The fabric had a slight stretch and felt very light and soft. There was even a pair of matching boots, still in their box. Cinna had told her that the garments were specially made with a fabric that would help keep her cool in hot weather. There was a separate set for winter. The slim fitting pants and top would be perfect for running and climbing trees, and the color would blend well the forest. Clothes like these were an extravagance that no one else had in the entire district, not even Madge.

It was still mid-August, very hot, and very humid. She rubbed the fabric of sleeveless top between her forefinger and thumb, brows furrowed. The company she planned to keep today would surely scoff at these fine things, maybe even at her. Deciding that she didn't want to appear like a Capitol plaything, she set aside the gear for another time. Rooting around in the back of her closet she found one of her father's shirts and an old pair of trousers. Conceding it wouldn't matter if her undergarments were Capitol-made she found a modest set in a dark navy and began to dress.

Katniss silently left her bedroom. Both Prim and her mother had insisted she take the largest. Compared to the downstairs level of the house it was plainly decorated, with it's white wood furniture, white walls, and white bedding. One of the first things Mrs. Everdeen had done, before unpacking any of her own things, was to spread a quilt across the bed. The one that had been on the bed Katniss and Prim had shared for years.

Crossing the hall she crept down the stairs to the sitting room. Loathed to disturb her mother or Prim she quietly shut the kitchen door. The whole room seemed larger than all of their old home. Across from the sitting room door was a wall with six windows, all looking out over the rear yard. Toward the far right, near the windows, was a huge brick fireplace, possibly large enough to roast a pig. In front of the fireplace were two rocking chairs. Beside the fireplace was door to the mudroom. Opposite the fireplace was the door to the large pantry, and to the left of that cabinets and countertops flank the length of the wall with the stainless steel stove and icebox.

Before the windows ran a long wooden plank table with equally long benches, one each side. There were thick cream-colored quilted cushions, held taut to the bench top with ties the wrapped around the legs. The flaxen rug under the table seemed to be woven out of some kind of grass, and the floor itself was covered in large dark orange earthen tiles that had been laid out in a herringbone pattern. The walls had been painted a pale green, like grass, just before it turned gold in the summer heat.

Near the large stainless steel stove hung gleaming copper pots, suspended from the ceiling over a large wooden worktable that seemed too tall to sit at comfortably. Under, a shelf ran the length, and on it rested large grey willow baskets. One filled with purple paper skinned onions, another with large golden pocked potatoes, and a third with beautiful red and pink skinned apples.

When Katniss first saw the fully stocked pantry with its rows of large glass jars holding varieties of grains, legumes, beans, dried fruit, and sugar, she had nearly cried. There were also rows and rows of jars that held all types of canned fruits and vegetables, too many to identify. There were tins of meat and fish. She had never provided so well for her family. She took some satisfaction from the knowledge that Prim would never suffer with hunger through another hard winter.

Katniss gathered a few delicacies to share for breakfast, cheese, apples, fresh bakery bread, and cold meat, stowing them in her bag. Simple delights they now had in abundance due to her Victor's earnings.

In the mudroom, near the back door, sat her old worn boots. The greeted her feet like old friends, and she smiled while pulling the laces taut. Leaving her father's on it's hook after deciding the weather would be too hot she ran a hand along the nub of the rough leather, and inhaled it's familiar musky scent.

Throwing her game bag over her shoulder she bounced out the door and out of Victor's Village.

Practically flying to her favored opening in the fence surrounding the entire district, Katniss paused to listen for the hum of electricity. The buzzing was absent.

Hearing nothing but the sigh caused by a soft breeze, she slipped under the fence and felt a calm wash over her. The tightness that she'd been carrying in her chest began to lessen, and it was as if she could breathe again for the first time in over a month.

Day had yet to bloom, though night had nearly passed. While it was still difficult to see, she had walked it so many times she could practically traverse that area with her eyes shut. Her other senses kicked into high gear. The spicy scent of dying fern beckoned her entrance into the woods. Her woods.

Above the creak of waving tree limbs, and the rhapsody of thousands of fluttering leaves, she could hear the clipped thwack thwack thwack thwack staccato of the redheaded woodpecker. Her velvet tread noiselessly met dried oak leaves and pine needles, their perfume recalling memories of contentment and the bounty of summer. Soon she arrived at the mossy hollowed trunk that housed her fathers' bow and quiver of arrows. Smiling again, she slung them over her shoulder and hurried toward the meeting spot.

Gale Hawthorne was her hunting partner. He looked like most Seam folk, olive skin, straight black hair, silver eyes. Just like her. He could be her brother. They had begun hunting together 4 years before, when she was 12 and he was 14. Both of their fathers had been killed in the same mining explosion and they were left to provide for their mothers and younger siblings.

Katniss had been foraging and hunting on her own for months when she stumbled on one of Gale's snares, and his acquaintance. They worked out a deal; he showed her how to lay snares and she allowed him to use one of her fathers' bows. Bonding over their mutual need for survival, they found that together they could accomplish so much more than they did alone. Trust does not come naturally to Katniss. It had taken years for them to become the friends they were now. Though she'd noticed something she couldn't name that seemed different over the last 6 months.

Gale preferred hunting close to sunrise, yet was not there to meet her. She sat on their rock, their meeting spot, and waited. As minutes stretched into an hour the rock began leaching warmth from her body. Hugging her knees to her chest she watched the sunrise in a glory of wispy yellows, soft roses, and mellow apricot. Blazing, the sun emerged vermillion over the horizon, casting the world in a rusty glow.

_ Has he given up on me? Hate me? Maybe what he saw me do was somehow unforgivable? Was it the killing? The strategy? Or the way I won that bothered him?_

Insecurity and doubt bubbled in her and her throat painfully tightened, while her eyes began to prick with tears. The idea of losing him forever, her best friend, the only person she'd trusted with her secrets, was so painful she couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything that had happened.

Shifting against the uneven hardness of the rock she looked skyward, now pale blue and fresh, to keep the tears from falling. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw he was standing about ten feet away, watching her.

Without thought Katniss leapt into Gale's arms half laughing, half sobbing. He held her firm against his body. Finally Katniss released him, overcome with hiccups, forced to find a drink. Then they did what they always did on their Sundays. They had breakfast, hunted, fished, and gathered. They gossiped about people in town. He told her which of his classmates toasted. They had all aged-out after the last reaping. They spoke about everything except the two of them, the arena, and Gale working in the mines.

She was just starting to feeling like everything would be normal between them, that she still had that in her life. That at least Gale could be counted on. Sundays could be counted on, could be normal, like they were before. She had been clinging to this hope, desperately, that one thing in her upside down life could be steady.

After Katniss had given him all of her game to trade at the Hob, she said she needed to get home. She hadn't told her mother or sister she'd be hunting, and had forgotten to leave a note. She was just suggesting that she take over the daily snares when he captured her face in his hands.

Gale pressed his lips fiercely against hers. Then he let her go saying, "I had to do that. At least once." And then he was gone. Katniss had been too startled to react. She stood staring at the empty space he had just occupied.

The day had a hesitant start, yet seemed to bloom into the promise of something familiar, before it thrust her back to the unpredictable. Frustrated, Katniss now sits outside the fence; her fingers absently weaving through the dried grass stalks that surround her while she attempts to sort her emotions.

Gale had suggested they run away together the morning of the reaping, but he'd never come close to anything that would suggest an interest beyond what they've always had. Nothing romantic.

Had she ever accidentally done anything to make Gale think she wanted that? Huffing, she rubs her hands rhythmically across the coarse fabric on her thighs. She knew, KNEW, that Gale would be unhappy about the strategy she used in the Games, but never considered why she knew.

Groaning, Katniss yanks up a handful of grass by its roots, forcefully spraying clumps of baked earth on her trousers and shirt. While they hadn't spoken about the arena that morning, or how different her life had become, she had hoped that he would have understood that she wanted everything to return to how it was before the reaping.

His lips had been warm, soft but hard, and a little chapped. She felt like maybe the kiss was something he did to her, rather than something they shared. She didn't feel violated, exactly, but he didn't ask, or give her time to say no. He had shattered some invisible barrier between them and with it any hope she had of resuming their old uncomplicated friendship.

Gale was well aware of just how much she's hated change. "The world won't stop spinning for you, Catnip," he'd laugh. That kiss just confirmed that nothing from her old life remained. Even Prim seems to have matured and gained a new level of independence in the month Katniss had been gone.

Without warning her chest tightens again and panic erupts deep in her belly. It splits wide into a black hole, and the world violently tilts. She feels herself sliding towards the inky depths, claws of dread drawing her into its abyss. Frantically she scrabbles for any other emotion. Finding anger, she clings to it like a lifeline, allowing it to catapult her to safety.

"Damn you Gale!" she yells to no one.

In the district older girls and women go about attracting boys and men a lot like how animals attract their mates. They add color to their cheeks and lips, sometimes their eyes. They wear clothes that accentuate their breasts and hips. Then they might act bold, swaying those hips and thrusting out their breasts, or perhaps demure, shyly looking up at their intended target through their lashes. Katniss had done none of these things, ever. At least, not with Gale, and not in the District.

In the Capitol she'd been plucked, primped, and painted within an inch of her life, along with the other tributes. After they'd been displayed for all of Panem in the Tribute parade they'd been forced to train and eat together, know each other, before they were put in the arena. There they'd been forced to fight each other. Kill each other. After, she was celebrated, expected to be proud, pander to the Capitol Citizens. While her thoughts franticly ricocheted, fear having unhinged her mind, she smiled calmly.

Seeing Snow's cold unforgiving snake eyes lock on hers while he placed the Victors crown on her head she wholly comprehended there were much worse things to fear than the arena. Prey, she understood better than humans, but in that brief moment she grasped the blame for the outcome of the Games was solely on her shoulders. And the outcome was unsatisfactory.

Katniss refused to even acknowledge the gaping chasm of fear triggered by the very possibility she might be punished; anytime the thought began to solidify into consciousness she forced it out of her mind.

As she had traveled home from the Capitol on the train, after she had washed away the makeup and changed from her dress and heels to trousers and a plain shirt, some of her paralyzing fear began to fade away. She had felt more herself, and her thoughts turned toward her sister Prim, Gale, and her mother. Home. Where she would feel normal. Safe.

Of course she hadn't really felt safe since her father died. Except for the cave. Katniss sighs. In the cave, in the arena, she had felt safe in Peeta's strong arms.


	2. Chapter 2

The ebb and flow of golden wild rye outside District Twelve muffles the warble escaping from the tree line. Drawing her thighs flush to her body she hugs her shins, and rests her chin upon her knees. Her breath catches in her lungs as her throat tightens and aches.

_ Peeta._

She misses him as if he were an amputated limb, and deep sadness and longing well low in Katniss's belly. As she closes her eyes she draws in the heady fragrance of soil and withered grass baking in the noonday sun. The scent so thick that the air tastes sweet on her tongue and something between a keen and a groan slip out.

Katniss had only one interaction with Peeta Mellark before the reaping, at 11 years old. Mrs. Everdeen had been anchored in a undertow of grief in the cold winter months that followed her husbands' passing. Even crying from her hungry children could not retrieve her from its depths. Fearing they'd be sent to the community home, Katniss did what she could to avoid outside attention. She kept house and cared for Prim. After the money was gone Katniss sold items from their home.

By April there was nothing left.

_ After three days of nothing but boiled mint leaves Katniss left home desperate to sell Prim's worn baby clothes. No one wanted them. Katniss wandered the muddy lane behind the shops that served the wealthiest townspeople. Peeking into a few trash bins for scraps she saw they'd been emptied._

_ Behind the bakery the smell of fresh baking bread was so overwhelming she was dizzy. A golden glow from the ovens spilled over the threshold of the open door. Icy rain dripping down her back broke her trance. She looked into the bakery's trash bin, which was cruelly empty._

_ Suddenly the bakers' wife filled the doorway, screaming insults and threats to drive her away from the bins. A blond boy, from her year at school, peered from behind his mother. As the mother disappeared back inside Katniss replaced the lid and stumbled across the yard._

_ Despairing at her failure, she found herself sinking into the mud at the base of an apple tree behind the bakery. She was unable to face Prim, hands empty of hope. Shivering from the rain, she thought, "Let the peacekeepers take me. Let me die"._

_ Shrieking and a clatter roused her and she focused in time to see the boy hustled out the back door by his mother. In the boys arms were two burnt loaves of bread, and on his face a welt. The mother screeched, "Feed it to the pigs you stupid creature!" before she disappeared back inside._

_ Sloshing across the yard he tore off the burnt bits, tossing them at the pigs. After checking that the mother had gone, but without even looking at Katniss, he tossed one, then the other loaf just at her feet. Turning on his heel he fled back to the shop, firmly shutting the door. Amazed, Katniss shoved both loaves under her shirt and ran home._

_ Those two loaves of bread saved her family from starving that night. The boy had been punished for burning that bread, even if it wasn't on purpose. He'd have been beaten again if caught giving it to her. It was an enormous kindness._

_ The morning air was warm and sweet, as if spring came overnight. At school their eyes met briefly, he looked away, and she looked down, embarrassed. Seeing the first dandelion of the year she recalled all the hours spent in the woods with her father and knew how they'd survive. Katniss never could forget the connection between Peeta, the bread that gave her hope, and the dandelion that reminded her that she was not doomed._

She'd been trying to repress all thoughts of him since their return to District Twelve, an impossible task when forced to hold his hand for Capital cameras during each Victor's celebration, together faking their smiles and forcing kisses. While polite, they hadn't truly spoken since the train ride home.

_ The train had made a quick stop to refuel and the two of them had decided to walk down the tracks a bit. Now alone she found there wasn't much to say. Peeta sweetly gathered wild flowers. She didn't tell him that they were wild onions, or that they reminded her of Gale, and of foraging in the woods. Thinking of Gale made her stomach twist into knots, and she suddenly felt like she had been lying to someone, or two someones. Seeing the look on her face Peeta asked her what was wrong._

_ "Nothing", said Katniss._

_ Walking further in silence Haymitch suddenly startled Katniss by touching her shoulder. He told them quietly "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the District until the cameras are gone. We should be ok."_

_ Avoiding Peeta's eyes, Katniss watched Haymitch head back to the train._

_ "What's he mean?" asked Peeta._

_ "It's the Capitol. They didn't like the stunt with the berries," said Katniss._

_ "What? What are you talking about?" asked Peeta._

_ "It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse, " said Katniss._

_ "Coaching you? But not me," said Peeta._

_ "He knew you were smart enough to get it right," said Katniss._

_ "I didn't know there was anything to get right," said Peeta slowly. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess... back in the arena... that was some strategy you two worked out."_

_ "No, I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" stammered Katniss._

_ "But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" said Peeta. She bites her lip._

_ "Katniss?" He dropped her hand and she took a step, as if to catch her balance._

_ "It was all for the Games," said Peeta. "How you acted."_

_ "Not all of it," said Katniss, clutching her flowers._

_ "Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" asked Peeta._

_ "I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," said Katniss. He waited, for further explanation, but none was forthcoming._

_ "Well, let me know when you work it out," said Peeta, and the pain in his voice was palpable._

_ He turned and walked back to the train, and Katniss didn't see him again till the train pulled into the grimy District Twelve station._

Her lingering uneasiness was abated, and then inflamed by Peeta's presence. First, she found relief in seeing him alive, then as the day passed their chilly interactions pressed on her till Katniss could barely glance toward Peeta without wanting to flee.

Peeta had disappeared into his new house across the lane directly after the Capitol train left and hadn't come out, nor did anyone go in, since. But, it became marginally easier to find distractions. The nightmares still came.

Katniss hadn't begun to try to separate out her feelings about him. It was so complicated. What she'd done as part of the Games. As opposed to what she'd done out of anger at the Capitol. Or because of how it'd be viewed back here in the District. Or simply because it'd been the only decent thing to do. Or what she'd done because she cared about him.

Thinking of him now brought thoughts of the Capitol, just as the Capitol brought her back to Peeta. Like a dog chasing it's tail, the two were linked in her mind, though each drew vastly different emotions from her.

Peeta was no longer just the boy with the bread. Experiencing the arena together had catapulted their relationship to a level she was not prepared to deal with. A boy she had never spoken to two months prior was important in ways she was not willing to admit.

Irrefutably, losing him in the arena had been unacceptable. She could not have killed him, nor allowed him to die. She had been so unwilling to part from him in those last desperate minutes that she put poisonous berries in her mouth, and would have eaten them if there had been no reprieve from the gamemakers.

Katniss scrubs a hand over her face, as if to empty her head with the swipe of her hand. The heat of the day was causing sweat to bead at her temple and trickles between her shoulder blades.

Life was different and confusing and overwhelming, and today was supposed to be simple and familiar. Selfishly, Gale's act had roughly thrust away the remaining delicate roots of her old life.

_ Gale_. Anger flares. Another betrayal, another person she doesn't want to think about. Startled, she considers the notion, but only understands a hollow ache.

Glancing at the position of the sun, Katniss hops up, brushing off clumps of dirt from her pants. Stretching, she turns toward the opening in the fence. She strides through town and Victor's Village, thinking of her shower.

Jogging around the side of the house aiming for the back door she pulls up short. Prim is in the garden, tending to the small clay pots of herbs they'd brought from the seam.

"I think I've just about got it figured out, " says Prim, setting down the watering can, seeing Katniss.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Raised beds are the way to go. We'll save our back some pain. Probably. I was thinking a fruit tree in the middle of a few of the beds might be helpful, so we can plant the shade lovers there. I wonder, what will grow here? Do you think we could get an orange tree?"

"Nah, gets too cold. Apples. We can send for gardening tools, soil, and trees, but how will we construct the beds? Wood or stone? Also, do you know which seeds you want? Have you made a list?"

"I know apples do, you've brought them home enough. But what else? Plums? Anyway, Mom and I were talking about it and we weren't really sure what seeds are actually available. Maybe you can just have Effie send a bit of everything? Well, everything that will grow here. And we should get the trees now, so they have time to grow before next spring. You decide about the beds, it's your house."

"Mmmkay. I'll call her later." Katniss turns for the door, irritated at having to make a decision solely on the basis that the house was hers. There'd already been several small arguments revolving around the subject, and it left Katniss with the sense that her mother and sister were just guests staying with her.

"Katniss?" The tone in Prims voice had turned cautious. Katniss turns back, eyeing Prim, trying to read her.

"Katniss, is everything alright with you and Peeta?" Prims eyes bore into Katniss's, trying to catch anything other than feigned boredom.

"Why do you ask?" Katniss said, equally cautious.

"After the Games, you seemed... different. I saw it in your eyes, right away. In the interviews. You didn't seem like you did before, during the Games. At home Peeta seemed different too. But his eyes aren't like yours. Your eyes were scared. His seem...empty. You can tell me, Katniss. That's what sisters are for, right?"

Confiding in anyone, sharing thoughts she tries not to acknowledge, was something that made her sublimely uncomfortable. If she could live with it long enough she might be able to bury it deep. She'd done it before.

"We're fine," Katniss says to this new, older Prim. Even if Katniss wanted to tell her everything, she couldn't. Not without frightening Prim, or possibly putting her in terrible danger.

"Did you tell him you won't marry? Or that you don't want a boyfriend?" asks Prim.

"No," says Katniss. "But you heard mom. She said I'm too young for a boyfriend."

"Since when do you listen to mom?" snorts Prim. "You do what you want."

"I _want_ to take a shower."

"Yeah, you need one."

Sighing, Katniss turns toward the door again. After toeing off her boots by the back door she passes from the kitchen into the sitting room. The furnishings were lavish, yet the room was still soft and comfortable. A stark contrast to the formal living and dining rooms located just off the foyer, where everything seemed to be hard and shiny.

Dark rich walnut paneling rose halfway up the wall. The walls above the panels were papered with a pale yellow that was scattered with very small golden feathers. Above the panels, on either side of the hallway door, were built-in shelves crammed with books. There were hidden cupboards below the shelves, camouflaged in the panels. An arched doorway near the wall of windows held a narrow stairway leading to the second floor. Plenty of coal was stored under a square brass lid set in the wood floor beside the oversized alabaster stone fireplace, allowing for as many fires as they wished.

Lying across a magnificent persimmon patterned area rug are two massive juniper velvet couches, facing each other, perpendicular to the fireplace. Between them stood a glossy pecan coffee table, several books stacked atop, with pictures featuring architecture and another seemed to feature wigs. In one corner of the room, next to a window, was a pair of deep navy wingback chairs, placed on either side of a small round dark table. In the other corner, was a larger pedestal table surrounded with chairs.

Heading toward the stairs Katniss drags her hand over the back of the couch causing a pleasing tactile sensation on her palm. Glancing at her hand she finds that absentmindedly stroking her fingers in the dirt has caused grime to become thick and dark under her nails. Taking the stairs two at a time, the desperation to be clean strikes.

After programing which shower and body sprayers she wants she shucks her earth and blood encrusted clothes. Cleanliness has never been important before, but one look at her dirty hand and for just a flash she was back in the arena.

Thoroughly scrubbed pink, Katniss settles on the bench, body sprays hitting her back and calves, the shower gently falling on her shoulders, chest, and thighs.

Surrounded by steam, and the constant warm pressure that makes Katniss feel like she is being held, she relaxes.

While Peeta had walked away that day, he'd given her the opportunity to tell him something, anything. She _let_ him walk away. She understood his silence, at first. He felt hurt, rejected. But now it seemed petulant, even punishing. She'd felt the acute withdrawal of both his affections and his friendship.

Peeta was punishing her for not continuing their relationship from the Games, he had presumed she wanted what he wanted. He didn't even ask _she_ wanted. Heck, he never bothered to tell her his feelings were real, not just the strategy he and Haymitch had devised. She began to suspect in the arena, but her suspicions were confirmed during their conversation on the tracks.

"_She's just worried about her boyfriend," said Peeta gruffly._

"_I don't have a boyfriend," Katniss said, blushing._

"_Whatever," said Peeta. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides _you _didn't say you love _me_. So what does it matter?"_

After their interviews, when they'd returned to the Training Center Katniss had attacked Peeta for telling all of Panem that he had a crush on her. Attacked him for making her look weak. Angrily, Haymitch had explained Peeta's declaration was for her benefit. So she'd look desirable to gain sponsors.

_ Bluff._

Looking back she could see he'd been deflecting, maybe didn't even remember saying it. It still felt like a lie that was at the root of some of her confusion. Remembering the terror she'd experienced alone beside Peeta those last days in the Capitol her irritation sparks into fury.

"_Damn_ it, Peeta!"

* * *

Katniss hesitates a second before pounding on Peetas' door. She waits, and then bangs her fist again, harder and louder.

Opening the door a little Peeta sticks his head out, his ashy blond curls mussed, eyes wide with surprise. Clearly he'd been sleeping, a pillow crease ran along his cheek. Letting out the breath she didn't know she's been holding, she reigns in the sudden surge of affection, clinging to her rage.

Peeta clears his throat, "Hey?"

"You said to come find you when I was ready to talk. I am." She practically spits her words out.

Through wide azure eyes he absorbs her wet hair, stiff limbs, fisted hands, narrowed eyes, and pursed lips. Looking bewildered, he opens the door wider, silently inviting her inside. She notes that he isn't wearing any new Capitol clothes, but an old soft wrestling shirt, and faded worn dungarees. His feet are bare.

"No, pack some water, and a blanket, or a sleeping bag if you have one. What you're wearing is fine," says Katniss.

Without a glance backward, she heads for her own house.

"But wear your boots," she calls over her shoulder. "We're going to be walking quite a ways."


	3. Chapter 3

After Katniss had retrieved her bow from its mossy hollow, she'd silently handed Peeta a large knife. Its stained leather sheath clipped snugly onto the waistband of his dungarees.

She hadn't set a particularly fast pace. Every now and then she pauses to gather some berries, something green, or a few mushrooms. Squatting, she thrusts her treasures into her game bag, allowing him time to catch up.

Peeta swipes at the errant curls that lay stickily against his forehead. The pungent perfume of fennel, rotting leaves, and something indefinably green mixes with the dusty earth that periodically swirls up from under their boots. Although the cloistered canopy offers shade, the sweltering air is stagnant and moist. Overhead, leaves layer each other, filtering the sunlight, tinting the world in a golden green hue.

Some of the thicker trunks, and their fallen comrades, are liberally crusted with curling pale grey green lichen. Under the verdant floor, thickly carpeted with green grasses, saplings of different heights, ferns dotted here and there, is a plethora of unidentifiable vegetation in varying states of decay.

Occasionally there's an obvious path to follow, though it might curve in the wrong direction, or abruptly disappear. Katniss has been mutely leading him for several miles, and though there are no obvious landmarks, Peeta can tell she is clearly heading someplace specific.

The sun beats upon his face when the trees break at the crest of a particularly high hill, but the humid breeze seems cool and fresh against his glistening skin. A narrow and densely forested valley lay below, and beyond there are a series of mountains, appear a hazy grey blue near the horizon, rather than the dark green of the vegetation nestled below. Struggling, Peeta trails after Katniss, downhill.

While no longer needing the cane for balance, he's not used to his new prosthetic. He's conscious that his uneven gait draws stares in town. While he's gained back a little strength lost in the arena since returning, the prosthetic requires the use of other muscles, and they were often sore. The tender skin surrounding his stump hurt in an entirely different way.

Surgeons had implanted a device at the base of the stump under the skin. It both cushioned the skin from the bone and acted as a relay to the prosthetic, allowing his brain to control the limb in the same manner as his own. The doctor told him that they salvaged the nerve strands that had gone all the way to his toes, and inserted them in the relay device. The result was that he could rotate the ankle and wiggle the toes, but also often felt a sharp twinge of pain from his nonexistent calf, or worse, an itch on the bottom of his missing foot.

Deeply inhaling the wild fragrance, Peeta pushes aside his discomfort to admire the surroundings. Where the terrain in the forest gently slopes the trees grow so low and close together that, at times, Peeta must duck under their branches. In flatter areas the trees tower more sparsely. The sun casts reliefs of the leaves on the mottled floor, creating an intricate and ever changing pattern of lace.

A quote floats through Peeta's mind, _"Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads."_

It's peaceful in these woods, surprisingly. Before, he'd never have considered of going beyond the borders of the District. Not that he'd been afraid of getting eaten by a wild animal. Or because he feared the Peacekeepers punishment, if caught. He never considered those consequences. He'd learned very young, for self-preservation, to avoid actions that might rouse his mother's attention. After a while, thinking about what to avoid was unnecessary, it became instinct.

Growing up with two older brothers sharing one bedroom, in the small apartment over the bakery, had him longing for a space of his own. To daydream or read uninterrupted, to sketch unmolested. Now, a whole house to himself he's never been more miserable.

_When the crowd had begun to thin at the train station, after Peeta's homecoming, Mrs. Mellark had insisted the bakery needed to reopen. She had hustled away, Rye and Bran following reluctantly. Peeta had slowly hobbled towards Victors Village, Mr. Mellark at his elbow. Haymitch had left with Katniss, eager to get away from the reporters and in his house. _

_Heading back toward town, the Capitolites squawked past, bemoaning their "rustic" accommodations and declaring their general disgust for the primitive outlying districts. Too exhausted to muster indignation, Peeta focused on putting one foot in front of the other._

_Nearly a day of analyzing every interaction with Katniss, since he'd been reaped, caused sleep to evade him the previous night. Attempting to sort out what had been real, or what she'd done to keep them alive, and if there was any difference between the two. Every time he'd shut his eyes his stomach dropped, reliving the moment he'd realized Katniss was not returning with him. She'd left for her compartment to change out of her dress, and returned with the same detached expression she'd presented at the reaping._

_Ignoring the warning bells, he'd blithely picked wild flowers from the side of the tracks, presenting them to her with a bashful smile. Her eyebrows had twitched, but she denied anything was amiss. He didn't want to believe she was lying. But when Haymitch_ _told them to keep up their act a little longer, the true nature of their circumstances struck, like a sucker punch to the gut._

_He didn't know who he was more angry with, himself or Katniss. Believing he'd never leave the arena alive, he had bared himself to her without caution. Foolishly, he believed her responses were authentic. But looking back, doubt clung to each look, touch, or kiss. Finally, he concluded that Katniss's feelings or intentions didn't really matter. Ultimately, she didn't want him. Katniss had been the only thing he'd ever really wanted, for as long as he could remember. The thought that she wouldn't return his love, yet must pretend she did, left him feeling sick. And he did love her, he'd known as soon as the words left his mouth, right before Katniss had offered him the nightlock. _

_Long before the pale yellow of dawn leaked through the compartment window the myriad of emotions had withered away, leaving him an empty shell._

_Arriving in Victor's Village, Peeta realized the houses mirrored those across the lanes, otherwise were indistinguishable, white clapboard with shiny black trim. His father led him inside one on the right side of the stone cobbled lane. There was an artificial chill in the house, and despite it flowing from a vent, the air seemed stale. He barely observed the ostentatious decor while stumbling through the bottom level._

"_What would you like for lunch?' said Mr. Mellark._

"_Nothing, Dad," said Peeta. "Just wanna lay down. Which room is mine?"_

"_Well," said Mr. Mellark. "This is your house, so I put your things in the largest bedroom. It's the one at the end of the hall, at the front of the house."_

_Peeta climbed the back stairs and saw only one door open, at the other end of the hall. Among his worn things were new fine clothes, obviously from Portia. The softness of the dark grey sleep pants he'd wrangled on gently molded against his backside and thigh muscles. A shudder ran from head to foot, the luxury evident against his skin, causing heaviness in his muscles. Tears pricked as he settled under the heavy down duvet, and sinking into the featherbed sleep rapidly claimed him._

_When Peeta woke the sun had set, and though unsure of where he was, he knew he was safe; the rich yeasty smell of baking bread meant his father was close. Tugging an old athletic shirt over his head, he followed the homey scent down to the kitchen, his feet thumping loudly on each step. Pushing forward the swinging door was abruptly assaulted by the fragrant smell of numerous baked goods. On the work table were dozens of cookies, loaves of breads, both savory and sweet, and a huge apple pie. At the far end, kneading and punching dough, was Mr. Mellark, brow creased and shoulders hunched._

"_Jeez, Dad," said Peeta. "Are we expecting the whole wrestling team?"_

_Mr. Mellark jerked his head up, looking surprised. "No. No, I was just testing out your new kitchen, and these fancy new ovens, while you napped. Sorry, I got carried away ."_

_"Dad," said Peeta. "it's your kitchen, too. No need to apologize." Peeta cocked his head, listening. "Where is everyone? The bakery must have closed hours ago."_

_Mr. Mellark cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, "Well now, they're at the apartment. Probably eating dinner."_

_Peeta blinked a few times, "Soo," said Peeta, slowly. "When are they moving here?"_

_ cleared his throat again. "Your mother thinks it'd be better for the bakery, for us, if we stayed in town," said Mr. Mellark, softly, looking at his dough crusted hands. "It's closer to school, for Rye. Town is more convenient for us."_

_For brief a moment, Peeta felt five years old, locked in the upstairs broom closet, whimpering in the dark, unsure of what he'd done wrong. Then something snapped, and red hot fury erupted from the depths of his being, twisting his years of pain and neglect, transforming them into an ugly dark beast of hate. Peeta stared at his father staring at his hands. The gentle soft-spoken man, the man who he'd always aspired to be, the man who'd put up with years of henpecking with saint-like patience, was really just a coward._

Sleep had become elusive. After that first day home the nightmares started. Though they're all related to his time in the arena, and leave him feeling dread or terror, there's only one that stays with him once the sun rises. Waking in the cave, to find Katniss in a puddle of her own blood, dead.

Peeta's foot catches on a scraggly shrub, nearly sending him sprawling, and causing his prosthetic to wrench painfully.

"Katniss!" says Peeta. "Katniss, I-"

Peeta pauses, waiting for her to turn and acknowledge him. Up a small incline Katniss swivels and looked back down at him, eyebrows raised.

Sighing, "What are we doing?" says Peeta. "Is it much further?"

Staring at the woven gnarled roots near her feet, he realizes the desire to never admit his physical limitations to the person whose opinion he cares about most is stronger than his pain. Already flushed from exertion, the ruddy pink spreads up his temples and down across his jaw, till the shells of his ear vibrate in cadence with his pounding heart.

Walking closer, Katniss eyes him. "It's another mile, or so." She motions toward a fallen tree, "Why don't you sit and rest, while I hunt? Shouldn't take long." Before he can answer she silently slips through the trees, fading into the greenery.

Sinking, he rests his back against the log and takes a few cleansing breaths. He's found this exercise to be helpful when controlling his emotions. While he remains unperturbed longer than most, he has a temper that rivals his mothers. Lately, it's bubbling much closer to the surface than normal.

Innumerable leaves shiver overhead, causing a soft roar. He retrieves a bottle of water, swallows a pill, and takes a single draft of water. Pulling out a notebook and box of charcoal, he shifts, making himself more comfortable. Stretching his amputated leg out, and pulling the other up against his body he and settles back. He props the pad against his knee and glances about for a subject.

Unsure of how much time had passed, he glances up, and notices Katniss has returned. Crouching about ten feet away, she watches him, waiting for him to finish.

He closes his notebook and places the charcoal back in its box, sliding them both back into his bag. Standing, he rubs his hands together, only managing to smear the black.

"So it's another few miles?" says Peeta. "Why can't we just talk here?" Though trying to be patient, petulance creeps into his tone.

Katniss furrows her brow, "Another few miles." Without further elaboration she turns and glides away.

Hastily, he yanks the thick strap of his bag over his shoulder and chest then follows, his irritation beginning to smolder as they continue up yet another incline. He'd felt better while resting, but his leg really is quite sore, and his recent convalescence is causing him to tire faster than normal.

The lack of sleep seems to be catching up with him, his thoughts become more and more cranky. After tripping for the fourth time, stumbling, then catching himself, he stops.

Feeling completely put upon, he calls ahead, "Seriously Katniss, what are we doing? You said you wanted to talk? Why are you so pissed?"

She pauses, stiffening, slowly swivels, stalks towards him, then pauses about five feet away.

"Why?" says Katniss, eyes narrowing. "You lied, Peeta. Why are you?"

"What? I- I told you how I felt. And then you said you were confused… " says Peeta. He skips the pathetic bit where he was now insecure about his missing leg, and with deep shame, wondered how much of her "confusion" had to do with it. Taking a deep breath, "What do you mean, I 'lied'?"

"Peeta, you didn't tell ME how you felt, you told all of Panem," says Katniss. "On live television. Later that night Haymitch told me that you did me a favor, for sponsors. You called it a bluff. And I believed you." Peeta stares in shocked silence.

"I thought you were trying to kill me," says Katniss, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. "Then, after the rule change, I found you, and you reminded me we were supposed to be in love." Peetas eyebrows shoot up. Had he?

"You said all these things," says Katniss, rushing. "And that kiss, and I had to remember that everything you said or did was for the Games, that it wasn't real," says Katniss.

"What do you mean?" says Peeta.

"The strategy, the star-crossed lovers thing," says Katniss. "I thought you were playing it up."

"The strategy," says Peeta, weakly.

He absently rubs the back of his neck. She was right, he never did tell her face-to-face how he felt about her, at least not outside of the arena, and he decided that didn't count. When he'd made the "bluff" comment in the training center he hadn't really been paying attention to what he'd been saying. He now remembers the bitter offhand comment that he'd directed at her "boyfriend". He had been so nervous about her reaction to his confession, but it never occurred to him among the many scenarios he'd conjured that she'd view love as weak or physically attack him. He couldn't help getting defensive, it was a natural reflex, and he had years to practice deflecting anger away. Peeta remains silent, waiting for her to finish.

"You know that I'm a terrible actress," says Katniss, staring at her feet. "You were dying Peeta, and _still_ knew when I was lying." Katniss looks up making eye contact.

"But you never bothered to ask me what _I_ wanted in all of this," says Katniss. "You just left me! And you've been punishing me ever since... And I let you."

Turning on her heel she silently stomps ahead. Following a ways behind, Peeta attempts to absorb the meaning of her words. He feels the breeze ruffle his curls about his head, causing some to stick to his sweaty brow.

He feels like an ass. He isn't sure which upset him more, that he had shamefully focused on the potential status of their relationship over the the very serious threat of the Capitol, or that he so readily abandoned their friendship in a fit of hurt feelings that really arose from misunderstanding and lack of communication.

He decides to ignore the comment about the feelings and kiss. If he considers those words, even a moment, a seed of hope will germinate and take root. He rakes at his damp hair with his fingers, forcing it back off his forehead.

He picks up his pace when he sees Katniss disappearing over the ridge. He doesn't think she'd leave him, but he didn't want her to have to wait. His thoughts drift to the Capitol. When he'd first woken up in the hospital he'd tried to get out of bed to find Katniss. Twice. Then they lowered his pain medication to make him realize his leg had been amputated below his knee. After Haymitch assured Peeta that Katniss was fine, he needed to be fitted for the prosthetic, then taught to walk again, in just a few days. Looking back on the Flickerman interview he remembers that she was clinging to him, sometimes painfully, and now he recognizes her fear.

Reaching the crest he breaks free of the trees and breathes in the fresh air, smelling of dried grass, and something spicy he can't identify. Sloping down to the right at the tree line he saw several lichen covered boulders. Perched like a sentinel on the largest was Katniss, herself, still as stone, her facial expression unreadable.

"I'm an ass," Peeta announces. Katniss raises her eyebrows slightly

"The farther away from the Capitol we got, the more relieved I felt," says Katniss. "But the closer we got to 12 the more confused I became."

"Then we stopped for fuel and Haymitch said what he said," says Peeta.

"I did asked Haymitch if he'd warned you," she says. "I didn't know he hadn't, it wasn't some conspiracy."

"So it was Haymitch," says Peeta. "He kept the fact that the Capitol was angry from me, but told you, and then acted like he'd told me. That was his way of telling me? Dick!"

"Did he know?" says Katniss. "It wasn't a bluff?"

"Yeah", says Peeta. "He figured it out during our first breakfast in the Capitol."

"But…" says Katniss, slowly. "He said it was a show first. He didn't want me to know, he wanted me to think it wasn't real. Why?"

"I don't know, exactly. I'm sorry, Katniss. I feel terrible that you went through that alone in the Capitol. And that I told you it was a bluff and then forgot. I'm sorry I abandoned you on the tracks. I wish I had known before, that we could have spoken in the Capitol. I guess I know why Haymitch would warn you and not me, but what if I had tried to play it cool or something? I could have really messed up."

"I guess he hoped you'd play off of me?"

"Maybe. But he can't keep us in the dark like that, we have to know what we're walking into. Though, I'm not sure if we're still on the Capitol's radar."

"You didn't see the look President Snow gave me? He doesn't look like the type to let it go."

"We should talk to Haymitch about what he thinks we can expect. Maybe he knows what's been done to other Victors the Capitol's not happy with... I really am sorry," says Peeta.

"Can we agree to never lie to each other?" asks Katniss.

"Yeah," says Peeta. "And never keep anything from each other. We're still a team, we can cover each other better the more we know."

Katniss furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

"We have the Victory Tour in six months," says Peeta. "Then we have to go back for the 75th Games. Then every year after."

"Yeah?" asks Katniss.

"Katniss," says Peeta. "If our defense for defying the Capitol is because of desperate love, don't you think they'd be pretty suspicious if, just six months later, we show up and tell everyone we've decided to just be friends? We don't know how long we'll have to keep it up, but I suspect it will be for a long, long time. If we actually know each other, know things about each other, we're less likely to get caught in a lie."

An expression of understanding dawns on Katniss's face, before it morphs into panic.

"Hey, we can check with Haymitch and see if he thinks there's any kind of alternative," says Peeta. "I don't want _that_ any more than you do."

They trudge down the steep hillside and pick their way around the base to the left. Emerging from the woods Peeta sees a small lake, edged with water plants. About a third of the way around he sees a small grey cottage. Katniss pauses to take in the view, and then turns to catch Peetas reaction, a rare wide smile gracing her face. He is awed by the natural beauty, and surprised by a structure outside of the district.

"How did you find this place?" says Peeta, turning back toward Katniss.

"My father used to bring me here when he was still alive," says Katniss. "Sometimes I come here to swim and fish, or hunt ducks. Or, if I really miss him."

Peeta nods. "Thank you for bringing me to such a special place," says Peeta, swallowing. "Prim must love it out here." He smiles at Katniss, a wide genuine smile, for the first time since their train ride home from the Capitol.

Katniss flushes. Moving forward toward the lake she calls over her shoulder, "I've never brought Prim out here. I've never brought anyone." Smile stretching toward his ears even farther, Peeta starts after her.


End file.
